


Gonna Be a Dark & Narrow Road

by echoist



Series: Show Me Where Trouble Goes [8]
Category: The Following
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Activities, M/M, Tourism for Psychopaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Twelve hours 'til the dawn, but we got to hold on</i><br/>Hold on to me, 'cause then we'll keep running.<br/>- Okerville River, Dead Faces</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Be a Dark & Narrow Road

Jacob's slow to wake the next morning, and Paul lets him sleep until they've nearly missed breakfast. He strokes one hand down Jacob's face and whispers a soft good morning in his ear, and Jacob stirs, rolling over in the tangled mess of sheets and blankets. They'd kicked off the extra quilt in the night, and Grace hops up from her resting place on the floor to lick Jacob's hands. 'S it morning already?' he mutters, running his fingers through Grace's coat. 'Unfortunately,' Paul answers. 'And if you want more pancakes, you'd better go get them.'

Jacob glances at the clock, and pulls the pillow over his head. Paul's pretty sure he hears a muffled 'No thanks,' issue from beneath the stuffing. 'Still want to go to that museum today?' Paul tries again, perched on the edge of the bed, and Jacob throws the pillow at him this time. He grins up at Paul sleepily, stretching his limbs beneath the covers. 'We should probably head out today, don't you think?' he says, more seriously. 'I mean, after last night.' His lips don't quite close around the last word, as if wanting to say more.

Paul shrugs. 'We can stay one more day if you want,' he replies, 'but we do have to make it up to Portland before too long.' He's already dressed, and Jacob wonders idly how long he's been awake.

'What's in Portland?' Jacob questions with a yawn, propping himself up in bed and noticing for the first time that he's wearing Paul's pink Wilmington t-shirt. 'You put this on me,' he says flatly, pointing an accusing finger.

'You were cold,' Paul answers with a slight smirk. 'I grabbed the first thing I could find. I mean, I had to get you into something before you froze to death.' Jacob grabs another pillow and flings it at his head. Paul lets it hit him at the risk of breaking something antique and delicate. 'And as for what's in Portland,' he says, lying back down on the bed next to Jacob. 'I still owe a debt,' he explains in a low voice, watching the door. 'From Tampa.'

'They're in Portland?' Jacob questions, and Paul shushes him. 'As in, Oregon?' He continues, his voice shrinking to a whisper. 'Dude, that's like the 3rd safest city in the entire country.'

Paul shrugs. 'That's probably why they're there in the first place. Forgery isn't exactly a messy business.' He rests his head against Jacob's shoulder. 'Not when it goes according to plan, anyway.' The hotel creaks and groans with the passage of other guests, probably returning from breakfast. Jacob lies still for a moment before speaking again.

'You're afraid it's going to get messy, aren't you?' Jacob asks, wrapping his arm around Paul. 'That's why they need you.'

'Maybe,' Paul shrugs. 'Maybe not. I honestly have no idea. So, museum or not?'

'It's probably expensive, and you'd hate it anyway,' Jacob muses. 'We don't have to go.' Paul pushes at him until Jacob's lying on his stomach, and gently presses his fingers into Jacob's tight shoulder muscles, working up until he hits the kinks in his neck. 'Ow,' Jacob mutters, without making any real protest. ''S not fair, you know,' Jacob mumbles into a pillow, pressing back against Paul's hands. 'That conversation wasn't finished.'

'Later,' Paul replies, letting his fingers sooth the tension down Jacob's spine. Once the muscles in his neck begin to give, Jacob falls back asleep, and Paul lets him, pulling the sheet over his back. He collects their things from around the room and repacks them, leaving out fresh clothes for Jacob whenever he decides to get up. He hooks Grace's leash to her collar and goes downstairs to tell Frank they need to check out, and he's surprised when the man genuinely seems disappointed to see them go.

'We thought you'd want to spend at least a few more days in town with us,' he says. 'I think Ellie's quite taken with your little girl, there.' Grace gives a quiet yip, and an answering growl comes from the dining room. Paul can hear Maryanne scolding the poodle in a high-pitched voice that sounds absolutely nothing like discipline. 'Yeah,' Paul answers, scratching the back of his head. 'We'd love to stay, but we want to split the trip back into two days, and Jacob's class tracks back in on the 12th, so we really don't have the time.' He congratulates himself on coming up with a feasible lie on the spot; Jacob doesn't hold the monopoly on falsehoods in this relationship. Frank just nods, and bends down to scratch Grace behind the ears. 'We stayed with Jacob's mom in Vegas over New Year's,' Paul adds with a rueful smile, 'and we probably overstayed our welcome before we came down this way.'

'Ah,' Frank replies knowingly. 'I understand how that goes. I bet it will be good to get back home, after all.' He finalizes their bill for two nights and Paul says, 'You have no idea,' before handing him a credit card. He takes Grace for a walk in the garden before returning upstairs to haul Jacob out of bed, and very carefully does not think about wringing the pink poodle's neck.

 

'You're sure you're ready to leave,' Paul asks, before closing Jacob's door. Jacob gets Grace settled in the back and responds with a laugh. 'What I really want is to sleep most of the day,' he offers, 'but that's not going to happen, regardless.'

Paul shakes his head, standing over him, one hand on the frame. 'We could have stayed another day so you could sleep,' he answers. 'Or go somewhere else, it's a pretty big town.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Jacob counters, motioning to Paul to get in the car. 'We were already paying too much for this place anyway,' he says, once the doors are shut and Paul's behind the wheel.

'Yeah, but you picked it out,' Paul says, throwing him a concerned glance. 'You liked it, so we stayed there. I'm not flying this plane solo,' he says, starting the engine. 'We can do whatever you want.'

'You need to get up to Portland,' Jacob hedges, looking away. 'Hey,' Paul says, turning Jacob's head back to face him with two fingers beneath his chin. 'I said soon, not immediately. I kind of like this town, anyway.' He moves his hand back to the wheel and pulls out into the street.

'I like it here, too,' Jacob agrees with a shrug after a moment, watching the colorful buildings pass. 'I just thought, it would be better if we left, since.' He presses his lips together for a moment. 'Since we left that guy in the alley, and all.'

'You don't want to stay just because I killed someone here?' Paul asks, pausing at a stop sign at the top of a hill. 'If that's going to ruin any future stop on the road for you -'

'No,' Jacob argues. 'It's not that. I just – we're here under our own names.' He pauses, rubbing his fingers across his eyes. 'Fuck. I meant, our new names. So maybe it would be better to not stick around if the police find something.'

'Do you think they're going to find anything?' Paul asks, glancing over out of the corner of his eye.

'I don't know,' Jacob admits, throwing his hands up in frustration. 'Everything after we walked into that club is all mixed up in my head. I don't remember enough to know.'

'Well I remember,' Paul says, taking Jacob's chin in his hands. 'We were careful. _I_ was careful.' He turns Jacob's face in his hands, forcing him to make eye contact. 'I've still got his wallet, I'll shred everything in Portland and pawn his fucking jewelry.' Jacob nods, blinking twice. 'Besides, it was pouring last night. Guy like that wouldn't have been standing in the rain unless he was waiting for someone who hadn't shown up yet. If the police find anything? It's not going to lead them to us.'

The car behind them honks, and Paul lifts his foot off the brake, sliding down the hill towards the channel. 'I just want to be clear on one thing, Jacob.'

'What?' he answers wearily, leaning his head against the door frame.

'I want to know that you're not running because you think I made a mistake.' Paul looks straight ahead, moving both hands back to the steering column. They're across the bridge before Jacob finally answers, Paul's knuckles gone white against the wheel in the silence.

'It wasn't a mistake,' Jacob says, watching the boats sway gently in the harbor. 'I trust you, you know that.' Paul gives a short nod in acknowledgment. 'I don't know,' Jacob continues, rubbing his lower lip with his index finger, the way he always does when he's trying to puzzle something out. 'It's just this town, I guess. We met people, and they liked us, and we didn't have to prove anything to them.'

'We shouldn't have to prove anything to anyone,' Paul spits out, refusing to look at him. 'If you don't like the person you are when you're with me -' he breaks off mid-sentence, unwilling to finish the thought.

'That's not what I meant,' Jacob counters, their raised voices causing Grace to sit up on the backseat, her paws shuffling back and forth. 'I think if I'd had to see the fucking Van Hoults one more time, I would have pushed at least one of them down the stairs.'

'Oh,' Paul says, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 'You mean Frank's favorite guests, since ah – when was it?'

'Oh, at least 1988,' Jacob answers in a mocking tone. 'I wish they'd been first timers,' he continues, biting at one nail.

'So we could have gotten rid of them?' Paul asks, the twitch turning into a real smile.

'At least the freaking dog,' Jacob mutters, and Gracie whines. He turns around and strokes her fur reassuringly. 'Not you,' he whispers against her ear, and Paul chuckles a little.

'I really wanted to break that thing's neck,' Paul confesses. Jacob takes his right hand off the wheel and holds it when they meet traffic heading north through Oakland and the suburban wasteland beyond.

'I think I just let myself get nervous,' Jacob admits, watching the road. 'I mean, even before Norfolk, you know, we all had each other. We'd go out and - and do things,' he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 'We never had to interact with the rest of the world, you know? Just barely. We didn't have pancakes with people from Michigan who thought we were just tourists.'

'They wouldn't have been able to tell from your face, Jacob,' Paul reassures him, squeezing his hand. 'No one can.'

'Joe could,' Jacob counters, worrying at his lower lip.

'Of course he could,' Paul replies. 'Because he saw it in himself, first. No one at that breakfast table was going to call me out for a back alley murder, because they all assumed we were just like them. They're worse than herd animals; at least a pen full of sheep knows when the wolf comes around.' Paul shakes his head, lifting up his hand still entwined with Jacob's to find a radio station. Jacob stopped it on something with a halfway decent beat, and he didn't protest.

'Look, if it's going to bother you to try and blend in,' Paul continues after a moment, 'then I'll just go out on my own.' Jacob starts to shake his head, but Paul interrupts. 'Here's the thing, I don't think you want me to leave you behind. I think you enjoy it almost as much as I do. You just don't have to be the one holding the knife.'

Jacob nods silently, running his thumb across Paul's fingers. 'I like watching you,' he admits after a moment. Paul smiles, more than a little smug, and waits for the next red light. He puts the car in park and leans across the seat to kiss Jacob on the forehead, letting his lips wander down to Jacob's mouth.

'I love it when you watch,' he whispers softly before kissing him again, harder, his teeth grazing Jacob's lower lip. Paul leans back, shifting the car into gear as the light turns green. The sudden acceleration thrusts Jacob roughly back against the passenger seat, rubbing his lip with a short, quiet laugh. He settles back, letting the sting subside as the suburbs begin to melt away in the rear view. Before long, Paul looks over to find him fast asleep, arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile lingering across his face.

 

It's beautiful country, once you get past the suburbs, and Paul doesn't mind the drive. There's a stark beauty to the wildlife preserves on Highway 5, the Central Mountain Range rising in the distance above the forest, flocks of birds startling from their water holes in a flurry of squawks and feathers. It's nothing like the Everglades, but something about the seemingly endless vista of water-choked flatlands reminds him of a different time. Back then, he'd always been able to count on the swamp to hide his latest kill, seized upon and devoured by the sharp-toothed wildlife before he could even clear the vicinity.

He drives through what seem to be five or six different National Forests with nothing but signs to distinguish one from another, while Jacob remains fast asleep. Paul almost wants to wake him, knows he'd love to get some shots of the scenery, but Jacob's more worn out than he's ever seen. Maybe, Paul thinks, worn down would be more accurate. They've been traveling for 22 days, and San Francisco was the first place they'd been able to stay for more than one night since Tampa. Virginia seems like a lifetime ago, and Paul realises how true that thought really is. The shade that was Billy Thomas has entirely vanished, along with the rest of his false life. He'll always be Paul Torres, no matter what his driver's license states, but he's beginning to wonder about Jacob.

For a while Paul had wondered how much of his relationship in Norfolk was with Jacob, and how much was Will, or if Jacob even knew the difference anymore. He was Mr. Wilson all day at school, Will to Sarah and all of her friends, and he had slipped into the role so much easier than Paul. Jacob had certainly eased his mind when he'd agree to leave, and more than ever in Berkeley, erasing all doubts that he was traveling with the man himself and not a ghost, not someone else's lie. Jacob Barnes seems like much the same person Paul had met in that attic, a little bolder, perhaps, and minus Emma's hand on his reins. He seems freer now, as entirely divorced from his past as Paul has ever seen, and he knows that can only do Jacob a world of good.

It still gives him pause to think that _he_ hasn't changed, and wonder if he hasn't been molding Jacob, making him into the person Paul wants him to be. He can't bring himself to feel guilty, even if he has, but the thought nags, gaining a persistent reality in his mind. At the end of that road lies the question of whether Jacob only loves him because Paul wants him to, or because it's real.

'First time for everything,' Paul mutters to himself, and Jacob stirs, rubbing his hands across his face. They've just passed a sign for a town called Weed, and Paul points it out to him as they inevitably drive through it on the Cascade Wonderland Highway. They pass under an archaic steel arch with a sign welcoming them to town as they cruise down main street. There's snow on the ground, Mount Shasta looming in the distance, and the weight of nearly six hours on the road hits Paul all at once.

'All right,' he says, shaking Jacob by the shoulder. 'I need to stop. We can stay here for the night, or you can drive the rest of the way, whichever.' Paul shrugs. 'I'm just – I'm done.' He pulls into the gravel parking lot for an aging diner with an attached road-side motel, anticipating a solid cup of coffee and whatever else the waitress wants to bring them. The roof and walls are molded into a checkerboard pattern that Paul imagines was once vividly painted. Now the entire complex seems to be decked out in sagging pastel. 

Jacob stretches with a yawn. 'You shouldn't have let me sleep so long,' he complains. 'I could have taken over any time.'

'You were tired,' Paul says with a slight smile, something fond overriding the worn out aggravation in his tone. 'And I didn't mind.' Jacob smiles up at him, still slightly confused from sleep. Paul hears his neck crack when he tilts his head, and stumbles out of the car, opening the back for Grace. She jumps down gratefully and they take a quick trip around the building while Paul heads inside to grab a table.

The inside of the diner is as worn out as the outside, but as long as they serve coffee, Paul honestly doesn't care. It's not crowded, but it's not entirely empty either, and Paul wonders if there's more than one restaurant in town. He sits down at a booth near the counter, motioning the waitress over. She's in her early thirties, blacker-than-black hair straight out of a bottle, and slides into the seat opposite him with a bubblegum smile.

'What can I get ya, handsome?' she asks, a fake beauty mark twitching above her lips. A salmon colored name-tag reads 'Ashleigh' above her heart, and at least four necklaces hang around her neck, the most visible a cheap, hammered tin pentagram dangling from a black velvet collar.

'Ah,' Paul pauses, tilting his head in ill-concealed amusement. 'Some coffee, for starters. Two cups,' he says turning two of the four cracked porcelain mugs on the table over, hoping she'll get the point.

'Coming right up,' she promises, and swoops out of the booth like a giant, pastel-toned bat. Paul watches Jacob return Grace to the car, settling her into a pile of blankets and towels before leaving the windows cracked. He kicks the snow from his shoes at the double-doored airlock, heading into the diner instead of the motel, and settles in across from Paul.

'Damn,' he comments. 'It got cold fast.'

'It was cold in San Francisco,' Paul argues, and Jacob laughs.

'You never got used to Virginia, did you?' Jacob asks, toying idly with the silverware rolled up in a paper napkin.

'Not the way you mean,' Paul says, hands already wrapped around his mug. Jacob smiles self-consciously, staring down at the menu. By the time Ashleigh returns with their coffee, they've both tucked away their menus. A meat lover's omelet for Paul, and a swift kick under the table for Jacob when he laughs. A Breakfast Lover's combo for Jacob, all pancakes and sausage and Canadian bacon, and he kicks right back.

Ashleigh looks back and forth between them, writing down their orders, and gives up with a sigh before heading back behind the counter. 'Jesus,' Jacob whispers. 'Are men really that scarce in this town?'

Paul laughs, shrugging his shoulders. 'I don't know, man,' he answers. 'But if I lived here, I'd be terrified.'

 

They eat their breakfast-for-dinner in relative silence, taking a cue from the other diners that come and go, throwing them suspicious glances. Jacob agrees to drive for a while, the coffee having a greater effect on him than on Paul, who remains exhausted. They step outside into the cold air, the sun having set behind the snow capped mountains in the distance, and Paul thinks aloud that it's for the best.

'I don't like this town either,' Jacob concurs. 'Too quiet.'

 

Jacob drives north on Highway 5 past the Oregon border, soft music on the stereo, Paul half-awake beside him in the passenger seat. He stops to give Grace a walk at a rest stop outside Roseburg, and after that Paul gives up and goes to sleep. Jacob manages to penetrate the vast warren of suburbs surrounding Portland before giving out and stopping at a cheap, bi-layered motel called the Timberlake.

Their room is on the back side of the building, looking over a small patch of woodland leading down to a deep, leaf-choked ravine. There's only a dusting of snow amongst the leaves, and from the way the damp earth squished beneath his sneakers, he imagines it's been raining. Jacob can hear the sound of running water, and assumes there must be a stream somewhere just out of sight. Everything inside the motel room is green and brown, the wallpaper repeating to look as though they weren't inside at all, but inside some sort of tree house. The bedside lamp seems to be manufactured from a split and glazed log, and he's almost afraid to check out the bathroom.

Jacob gets food and water out for Grace, and she curls up in an armchair near the window, as if despite being cooped up in a car all day, she's as tired as they are. Jacob just strokes her fur and smiles, thankful that she doesn't want to run and play. 'Tomorrow,' he yawns, promising her a good jog around the woods behind the motel, the only patch of greenery along the heavily industrialized highway.

Paul's already shucked off his shoes and pants, crawling underneath the pine-branch patterned comforter. It's noisy outside, the walls doing nothing to block out the sound of late night traffic and tractor trailers lumbering down the road. The bed is actually comfortable for a change, the blanket and sheets both a dark, soothing green, and exhaustion proves enough distraction from the noise for several hours of uninterrupted sleep.

 

The next morning, Paul ventures down the road into town and buys two disposable cell phones, paying in cash for the next two nights at the motel, just in case. Despite being exhausted, he'd still managed to check them in under false names, so at the very least, there wouldn't be a paper trail leading back to Portland. If things went bad, their new identities wouldn't be compromised in the process.

When he returns, Jacob's just finished taking Grace for a jog, and she's stretched out across the floor, panting happily. Paul tosses him one of the phones and writes the number to his on the hotel notepad. He digs the number César gave him out of a pocket in their bag with one name scribbled beneath it, and flops into a chair before dialing it. A short, terse conversation follows, and Jacob watches him scribble an address on another sheet of paper.

'Well?' Jacob asks, when he closes the phone with a snap.

'There's a bar called Clyde's across the river,' Paul says. 'Guy named Travis is our contact, says he doesn't want to talk over the phone.'

'All right,' Jacob answers. 'So we go to him.'

'You're not going anywhere,' Paul tells him, standing up from the chair. 'This is my debt, you don't need to be a part of it.'

'The hell I don't,' Jacob fires back angrily. 'We both owe whoever helped César out, I'm as indebted as you are. If you're going, I'm going.'

'Look,' Paul says, crossing the room to rest his hands on Jacob's shoulders. 'I don't know what I'm walking into, here. César wouldn't knowingly set me up, but more than likely these guys want me to get my hands dirty so the job doesn't trace back to them. No matter how it goes down, I'd like to keep you out of it.'

'Remember who had your back in Vegas,' Jacob asks, pushing against Paul's chest. 'If I hadn't been there, you'd be dead.' He stares up at Paul, one eyebrow raised, and Paul looks away.

'Yeah, all right,' he acknowledges somewhat grudgingly. 'Fine. Just – hang back, all right? I don't know these guys.'

Jacob nods, and grabs his jacket, tucking his Sig into a deep inner pocket. Paul strips off his shirt and tugs on one of their pilfered Kevlar vests, tossing the other one to Jacob, who does the same. Beneath t-shirts and flannel, they lay perfectly concealed. Jacob gives Grace a small piece of jerky from a bag he bought at a gas station, and tells her to be good while they're gone.

 

Paul drives through Southwest Portland on Highway 5, detouring to take the Hawthorne Bridge across the Willamette and past a series of abandoned warehouses along the riverfront. He makes a few turns, and sees the bar, sandwiched in between a salvage yard and a pawn shop. The neon sign is dark, the plastic sign in the doorway reading CLOSED. Jacob can see a large paneled van in the gravel lot out back, and three large motorcycles leaned up against the side of the building. They lock the car and walk up a short set of crumbling brick steps before Paul knocks on the door. The sound of locks being turned follows, and the heavy oak panel shudders outward.

The man framed in the doorway is bald, with a long, scruffy beard that might be blonde, or possibly just filthy. 'Travis?' Paul questions, but the man just motions them inside with a jerk of his head. He closes and locks the door behind them, and Jacob can't help but feel apprehensive at the gesture. Their host leads them back past an enormous wooden bar that takes up half the length of the building, winding around two pool tables toward an open doorway in the back. They walk past a set of restrooms, another door marked 'Office' and end up in front of a door marked 'Supplies.'

'Weapons,' Baldy says firmly, holding out his hands. Jacob glances at Paul, who nods, and hands over his Beretta from the back of his waistband. Jacob follows suit, slipping the pistol out of his jacket pocket and placing it in Baldy's large, meaty palm. He nods approvingly, checking the safeties on both before unhooking a key chain from his belt and oping the door to the Supply Room.

They weave through several metal shelves cluttered with all manner of things. Reams of paper, spare glassware, ink cartridges, and cleaning supplies, all of it piled dangerously high. At the back of the room, cleverly hidden from view behind a stand of cushioned mats, he unlocks a second door, and holds it open. A tall, lean-muscled man in his mid-40s stands up from behind a desk, dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail. He motions them farther inside the windowless room with a pleasant smile. Jacob mutters his thanks to Baldy and follows Paul inside before the door shits firmly behind them. Two other men and one older woman are bent over desks covered by printers, laminators, and a wide variety of large, official looking seals. One of them has his face pressed to an immense magnifying glass as he painstakingly recreates the tiniest details on a thick, blue-green sheet of paper.

'Paul Alvarez?' the first man questions, and Paul nods, stepping forward to shake his hand. 'And this must be the newly minted Mr. Jacob Barnes,' he continues. Jacob nods, his arms crossed over his chest. 'I'm Andrej Gorsek, very pleased to make your acquaintance.'

'We were supposed to meet someone named Travis?' Paul questions with a hint of suspicion.

'Of course you were,' Gorsek smiles in answer. 'That's how I knew César sent you.' Paul nods slowly, clearly not appreciating the deception, but accepting it as necessary.

'Your work is flawless,' Paul compliments him. 'And we owe you a great deal for your trouble.'

Gorsek shrugs. 'Not so much. Only a small thing, really.' Paul cocks his head to one side, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 'Recently I have lost some business to a certain young upstart and his cohorts. This is upsetting to me, as I'm sure you can understand.' Paul nods, and sees Jacob nodding as well out of the corner of his eye.

'I would like to see this young man out of business. However you see fit to handle his removal is your prerogative, as long as it doesn't lead back to me and mine.'

'And where might we find this charming individual?' Paul asks, playing nice.

'I've heard he does business above a certain club on Nicolai Street,' Gorsek answers. 'But that's just a rumor, mind you.'

Paul nods. 'Certainly not a rumor I heard from you. In fact,' he continues, looking over his shoulder at Jacob. 'I'm pretty sure we've never met, right Jacob?'

'Never even heard of you,' Jacob answers with a shrug. Gorsek's smile is warm and wide, and Jacob can't help but take a liking to the guy. He's probably the most polite criminal Jacob's ever met.

'I'll call when I've finished the errand,' Paul says, reaching out to shake Gorsek's hand again in parting. 'I'm sure Travis would want to know it's a done deal.' Jacob steps forward to shake the man's hand as well, and Gorsek gives him a small wink.

'I'm certain he would be happy to hear the news,' Gorsek agrees.

 

They buy a map of the city at a small grocers, and drive back across the river to cruise down Nicolai Street. It only runs for about ten blocks, most of the buildings abandoned and in a state of disrepair. A few businesses seem to thrive, or at least get by, one of them being a Gentleman's Club occupying the entire lower floor of a converted factory. A sign in one upstairs window reads 'Rooms For Rent' in vivid orange letters, with a number to call. The club doesn't open until 3:00 pm, and Paul suggests waiting until dark to better blend in with the patrons coming and going. Their target most likely works from one of the rooms upstairs, accessible by a wrought iron staircase that more closely resembles a fire escape, and Jacob agrees that it would be much easier to scale it unnoticed after sunset.

They return to the motel to wait out the day, ordering a pizza and settling in to watch whatever happened to be on the television. After a spaghetti western and Hell Is For Heroes, the sun begins to set and Paul packs up their things, so as to be ready to leave immediately after their work is finished. Jacob makes sure Grace eats her dinner before snapping on her leash and walking out back to take her on a good long walk before they hit the road.

Paul turns in the key, and it's full dark before he hears a sharp series of barks from behind the building, followed by a scuffle and a loud series of four-letter words. He races around the building in time to see the first shot fired, taking Jacob down to land nearly at his feet. Grace is entangled with two young men, dressed in dark fatigues, masks covering their faces. There's blood dripping from her snout, and Paul can see a vicious tear down one assailant's leg. He takes the opportunity to bend down and pull Jacob's silenced P.238 out from his coat pocket and takes careful aim. The first two shots take out the man closest to Jacob, one striking him clean in the throat. Paul watches with a strange, adrenaline fueled detachment as blood hemorrhages down his chest before he finally slumps to the ground. He aims a final shot straight through his skull before moving on. Grace jumps at the second attacker and nearly takes him down by sheer weight alone, her jaws closing hard around his throat. The man manages a well-aimed kick to Grace's ribs and she yelps, backing away. The distraction allows Paul to slip in close enough to fire two direct shot to the back of his head.

Paul's mind races as he dives toward the ground where Jacob fell, bleeding profusely from his left shoulder. 'It's ok,' Jacob gasps. 'They were – t-terrible shots.' Paul can sees his pupils blown wide with pain and knows that shock is setting in. The first shot was loud enough that he knows the Portland P.D. will be on the scene within minutes. He kisses Jacob roughly on the forehead, and drags the bodies through the wet grass, shoving them down the steep slope into the ravine below. He retrieves Jacob's gun and searches the ground for the spent 380 Auto-P shells, his hand eventually closing around all four, leaving the 9mm that landed a few feet away from Jacob.  Paul wipes the shell casings down, nearly scorching his fingers in the process, before flinging them as far into the trees as he can manage in the opposite direction. He can see the wide swath of tracks and gore left behind in the brush, and grabs a fallen log from several feet away, positioning it carefully to hide all evidence of the assailants' passage. He kicks the leaves around to appear undisturbed, and returns to Jacob's side. He offers up a silent prayer to Saint Anthony and whoever else might be listening that the river he could hear down the slope would prove deep enough to bloat the bodies, carrying the evidence far downstream.

'I'm going to call 911,' he tells Jacob, pressing his face close to Jacob's ear. 'And you're going to be all right.' Jacob nods weakly, pain overwhelming his ability to respond. 'You are going to be _all right_.' Paul reiterates, pulling Jacob's wallet from his jacket pocket and racing around to the front of the building to stow it and the Sig out of sight away along with his Beretta in the locked, hard-sided case. He shoves the bag under the passenger seat and turns to see the kid from the front desk, wide-eyed and staring in the doorway.

'Look,' Paul says, approaching him slowly and pulling three hundred dollar bills from his wallet. 'I need you to do me a favor, all right?' The kid nods, pale and shaking with fear. 'When the police get here? Tell them that the room was registered to Paul Alvarez from Seattle, Washington.' He holds out the money and the kid takes it, shoving it down in the back pocket of his jeans. 'Y-yeah,' he stutters. 'I can do that.'

'You're not doing anything illegal,' Paul assures him. 'That's my real name, we were just traveling incognito. We, ah, eloped in San Francisco, and didn't want our families tracking us down, ok? But we're going to have to be honest with the cops, you get that, right? I don't want either of us in trouble, here.' He pulls out his wallet and shows the kid his license as proof. The terrified concierge nods, and slips back inside, presumably to alter the records. At least, that's what Paul hopes he's doing.

Paul races back around the building, kneeling down by Jacob's side to dig out the unused cell. He dials 911, and reports a mugging that ended in gunfire at their address. He doesn't have to feign hysterics; Paul can hear the fear and panic in his own voice. 'We've already dispatched units to your address,' the operator assures him. 'We've had three separate reports from that area. An ambulance is on its way.'

'Oh thank God,' Paul breathes, and presses down as hard as he can on Jacob's wound. Grace is huddled on the ground beside Jacob, shaking from head to tail with worry. She noses at his wound, and tries to lick it clean. Paul tears off his coat and flannel, wrapping the woven fabric tight around Jacob's arm and shoulder and holding it firm. Jacob's eyes have started to drift shut, and he lightly smacks his cheeks to bring him back to consciousness. 'Stay with me, man,' Paul begs. 'Please, please try. Stay for me.'

A rolling wail of sirens followed by vibrant seizures of lights announce the arrival of the authorities, and Paul runs out to meet them, blood staining his hands and shirt. 'Please,' he begs the EMTs climbing down from the vehicle. 'Jacob and I – we were getting ready to leave and he was walking the dog and this guy just came out of nowhere and -'

'Sir,' a sturdy young woman in a uniforms tells him, placing a hand on his chest. 'I need you to calm down. Where's your friend?'

Paul runs a hand through his hair and walks as fast as he can manage toward the back of the building. He wraps his arms around Jacob's head and cradles him, nudging him back toward consciousness for the second time. Another EMT pulls him gently away, and they lift Jacob up onto a body board for transport. 'Paul?' Jacob asks, searchingly, reaching out a hand. 'I'm here,' Paul answers as he takes his hand and squeezes it, walking beside the board. 'I'll be with you the whole way.' They lift Jacob up into the back of the ambulance and move to shut the doors as Paul tries to climb inside.

'Son,' someone calls out behind him, and Paul turns to see a uniformed officer standing to one side. 'We're going to need you to stay here to answer some questions.' Paul begins to argue, but the first EMT sticks her head out through the door and clasps his shoulder. 'We're taking him to Providence,' she offers. 'You can check on him there, all right?'

Paul nods, his eyes red and rimming with tears he refuses to shed. He watches the door shut firmly behind them and drive away, lights flashing and siren blaring as it weaves in and out of traffic. At last he turns around to the officer, who has a notepad in hand, and begins the interrogation.

 

Once they finally let him go, after interviewing the hotel clerk and a few other guests, Paul's relatively certain his story sounded believable. Jacob was out with Grace for a walk, while he packed the car, and he didn't notice anything amiss until he heard the gunshot. He ran toward the back, which he admits to the officer was probably a foolish move, but when he arrived he found Jacob on the ground and Grace chasing after a young man wearing dark colors and something like a ski-mask over his face. The dog chased him for a good way, and given the blood on her muzzle, he assumes she got in a few good bites.

'We'll check the local hospitals, see if anyone's been admitted for an animal attack,' the officer notes, and Paul nods.

'She came running back after a few minutes, while I was still on the phone with 911, and – and look at her, I think that bastard did something to hurt her.' Paul bends down and wraps his arms loosely around Grace, letting her lick his face when the tears begin to fall. He feels along her ribcage on both sides, probing gently at her stomach, and she whines, but he doesn't feel any broken bones.

'I don't know if we can get a useable sample of that blood on her nose there,' the cop remarks, 'but I'm sure as hell going to try.' Paul nods his thanks, and holds Grace still while a young woman wearing a dark jacket emblazoned with the letters C.S.U. takes three separate swabs from her muzzle.

'Do you think you'll catch the guy?' Paul asks, feigning desperate hope. The cop shrugs.

'I don't know, but even if without a physical description, the blood gives us a good shot if he's already in the system.' Paul nods, as gratefully as he can manage. 'He probably will be,' the cop adds. 'We get a lot of gang trouble out this way. It's a damn shame,' he continues on, shaking his head. 'This used to be such a nice town. Good place to raise your kids.'

Paul nods mutely, as if he understands. 'Do you think I can go to the hospital now?' He asks, eyes wide with fear and worry.

'Yeah,' the cop answers, taking pity on him. 'I think we've got all we need. We're going to do a sweep of the area, but if he's smart, he would have gone underground. All I can promise you is that we'll do the best we can with the resources available.'

Paul nods, wiping his blood-stained hands on his jeans. 'All right,' he says. 'You've got my contact number, just – let me know if you find anything.' He stands up from where he's been kneeling beside Grace, and turns back, just as the Officer closes his pad. 'I hope you find him. I want that bastard to _rot_.'

The cop nods. 'You and me both, buddy.' He tips his hat and heads back to his car to confer with his partner and the two other officers that responded as per protocol. The desk clerk is smoking a cigarette outside, his back to the wooden siding, looking shell-shocked. Paul almost feels sorry for him before he asks for their key back and walks Grace up to the room, taking a few moments to wash her snout. He leaves out food and water and her favorite toys, not knowing when he'll be able to come back.

'I'm going to the hospital to be with Jacob,' he tells the kid. 'If I need to pay for another night, I'll come back, don't worry about that. I just - '

'Go,' the kid says. 'Besides,' he adds, his voice shaking. 'I'm pretty sure I'm going to quit this joint tomorrow, anyway.'

'Good idea,' Paul agrees, and gets back in the car.

 

It's nearly a twenty minute drive to the hospital from the motel, and Paul passes over the train tracks bordering Clyde's bar. Once he's parked in the multilevel deck, Paul exchanges Jacob's phone for his own burner and dials Gorcek's number.

'Clyde's, whadda ya want?' a gruff voice answers after a few rings. Paul can hear the riotous clatter of noise from behind the bar.

'I need to speak with Travis,' he says slowly. 'Yeah, all right,' the voice answers, not too happily, and puts him on hold. A much smoother voice picks up the line after a moment.

'Everything going according to plan, I hope?' Gorsek asks smoothly.

'I think you have a vermin problem,' Paul says, managing to keep his voice low and calm.

'Really,' Gorsek answers with careful nonchalance. 'Do you think we need to call an exterminator?'

'Immediately,' Paul answers. 'Someone jumped us at our hotel, and Jacob's in the fucking hospital with a bullet in his shoulder. I _will_ finish this job, I swear that to you. In the meantime, I suggest you do some spring cleaning.' He shuts the phone with a loud click and stuffs it in his jacket pocket before locking the car and starting the long walk in to Emergency.

 

A packed waiting room full of eyes watches him nervously cross the floor, and Paul realises belatedly that he should wash away some of the blood. He ducks in the nearest restroom and cleans up as best as he can before venturing back out, his heart hammering so loudly in his chest he's certain the entire room can hear it. He steps up to the desk and asks if Jacob Barnes has been admitted. The clerk's nails clatter against her keyboard, but she comes up blank. 'No Jacob Barnes in the system tonight, honey,' she says, snapping a piece of gum.

'He would have arrived by ambulance, with a gun shot wound to his left shoulder,' Paul asks, trying to keep his voice from rising in volume. 'He was mugged, he might not have had any I.D. with him.'

'Ohhh,' the clerk remembers. 'Yeah, I saw him come in from the ambulance bay. Pretty sure he's in surgery right now. Are you the responsible party?'

'Closest thing he's got to one,' Paul offers, pulling out his driver's license.

'All right sweetheart, just go ahead and fill out these forms for me, all right?' Her nails are long and pink with sparkles at the end that match her cotton candy pink scrubs, and the site nearly makes Paul nauseous. He nods, and takes the clipboard, heading over to an empty seat. Being surrounded by so many people is a trial in and of itself, not to mention reading the photocopied fine print and endless questions. He muddles through, lists himself as the guarantor, and returns to the desk after what seems like an eternity.

'I couldn't answer everything,' Paul says, attempting for apologetic but probably just sounding exasperated. 'He doesn't talk about his family that much.'

'Eh,' the receptionist shrugs. 'We'll take what we can get. At least now we've got a name, and someone to claim him.' She smiles up at Paul, and he tries to smile back, the muscles in his cheeks tight with worry.

'We – we don't have any insurance, but I promise you, I will find a way to pay the bill. We're from Seattle, our address is on those forms, and I'll pay whatever you need up front, just -'

'Don't worry about a think, sugarplum,' she interrupts him. 'We're obligated to provide the best possible care, whether you can afford it or not.' Paul's shoulders fall with evident relief.

'Should I wait here until he's out of surgery, or is there a better place...?' He trails off, looking back at the sea of crying children, stab wounds, and domestic incidents littering the waiting room.

'Third floor up, hon,' she offers kindly. 'There's a separate waiting area up there, I don't think anyone would mind.'

'Thank you,' Paul says, glancing down at her name tag and adding, 'Darlene. I really appreciate it.'

'No trouble,' she answers with a suggestive wink, and Paul turns on his heel and heads for the elevators.

 

It seems like hours pass without word, Paul grabbing every doctor and nurse that leave the surgical wing to ask about Jacob's status. He drinks three cups of terrible, overcooked hospital 'coffee' before a surgeon emerges with a clipboard in his hand, looking around at the waiting room.

'I'm Paul Alvarez,' Paul says, standing up nervously. 'Are you – were you working on Jacob Barnes? Gun shot to the left shoulder?'

The surgeon gives a short nod and Paul crosses the room to join him. 'How's he doing?' Paul asks, worry evident in his tone. 'You're not an immediate relative, I take it?' he says, eying Paul up and down.

'I'm his -,' Paul breaks off, his voice pleading. 'I need to know he's ok. Please tell me he's ok.'

'There's no immediate family to contact?' the surgeon asks, frowning.

'No,' Paul says. 'It's just him and me. Has been for a long time now. I'm – I'm all he's got.'

The surgeon sighs, and glances around the room. A few nurses move by, pushing trays of supplies and medication or responding to codes on other floors, but otherwise, they're alone. 'I performed a successful arthroscopic surgery to remove the bullet. Unfortunately, it shattered on impact, fracturing his collarbone and taking a good chunk out of his first rib.'

Paul sucks in a deep breath, trying to stifle the panic rising in his chest. 'However,' the surgeon continues – Doctor Sheridan, Paul reads from the ID around his neck – 'It could have been much worse. If the shot had hit much farther down, it could have broken multiple lower ribs and punctured his lung, or worse, sent fragments into the heart. We implanted an intramedullary fixation device to stabilise the fractured clavicle, and that should speed his recovery, as long as he's not overly active in the next several weeks. As it is, I'm confident he'll make a full recovery in due time, with proper physical therapy.'

Paul collapses against the back of a chair, running his hands through his hair. 'Thank you,' he manages. 'God, I don't even know how to begin to thank you.'

'Well,' the man leans in conspiratorially. 'You could start by not letting on that a respectable surgeon broke protocol and gave you privileged information about one of my patients.'

Paul nods. 'Of course not,' he says, shaking his head. 'That would never happen.'

'They'll be moving him to ICU shortly,' Sheridan comments. 'Beverly Jackson is on duty tonight, and she's not so easily swayed. But you can wait until he's released to have visitors. Fourth floor,' he finishes, pointing toward the elevator at the end of the hall. Paul shakes his hand and thanks him again before riding up one floor and staking out a claim on a couch in the ICU waiting area. Two more cups of coffee-colored sludge pass his lips before he sees an orderly pushing a familiar figure through another elevator and heading towards one of the sealed off rooms down the hallway. He leaps up from his seat to follow, and is promptly blocked by a petite woman in a set of well-fitting hospital-green scrubs.

'Your name?' she questions, looking up at him, not in the least bit intimidated by his physical prowess or the blood stains on his clothing.

'Paul Alvarez,' he answers. 'I'm here for Jacob Barnes, the man that just went down that hallway.'

'You're family?' she questions, one hand on her hip.

'All the family he's got,' Paul replies, irritation beginning to burn through the layers of his skin. 'I just need to see him, all right? I just need to know that he's ok.'

'But you're not actually _family_ ,' she counters, taking one step sideways to further block his path.

'Not in the traditional sense, no,' Paul has to admit, gritting the words out through clenched teeth.

'Getting angry with me will not help your case,' she replies. 'There are privacy rules and protocols in place for a reason. Look at you, all covered in blood and god only knows what else. How do I know you're not here to finish him off?'

Paul can feel the bile rise in his throat, knows his eyes have lit up with barely contained malice. 'I understand that you don't know me, and that you have rules you're supposed to follow, but if I'm not there when he wakes up?' Paul breaks off, looking down to one side.

'You'll be here,' she assures him. 'Right in that chair, if you know what's good for you.' Paul closes his eyes and concentrates on keeping his hands carefully at his sides. 'We'll let you know when he can have visitors, but right now he's just been through an incredibly traumatic experience and is heavily sedated. He needs rest to heal. Besides, he wouldn't even know you were there.'

 _Yes he would_ , Paul's mind asserts, and it stops his thought process short. Would Jacob know if he were there? _Yes_ , he decides, and forces in a deep, shuddering breath. Besides, Paul thinks, _he_ would know that he was there, and maybe he could remember how to breathe in Jacob's presence.

'Go sit down,' she orders, and Paul reluctantly complies. If he can't be there when Jacob wakes up, he can at least be there a few moments after. He closes his eyes and stretches out on the couch, his mind like a hive of bees: angry, and too restless to find sleep. An hour goes by, perhaps two, and a tall young woman in scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck makes her way cautiously over to him. He opens one eye as she taps him on the shoulder. She's curvy, with long red hair tied back beneath a colorful cap.

'Bev's gone down to get a snack,' she whispers. 'Now's your chance. Room 103.' She points the way, and Paul leaps up off the couch and carefully makes his way down the hall. He stops for a moment outside the glass, looking at Jacob's pale figure against the sheets. A thick series of bandages covers his entire left shoulder, stretching down over his chest. There's a monitor attached to his finger, and two bags dripping fluid directly into his veins. The machines keep up a steady rhythm, and Paul takes a seat in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed.

He buries his face in his hands before looking back up. He's never seen Jacob so pale and drawn. He knows he's asleep, probably drugged out of his mind, and nothing he says will penetrate that fog, but he has to try. Paul takes Jacob's right hand in his own, the one without a needle to disturb, and runs his fingers across the skin. 'I'm sorry,' he whispers. 'God, Jacob, I'm so, so sorry. I never wanted anything like this to happen to you.' He swallows hard around a painful lump in his throat before continuing.

'This is my life; it never had to be yours. I dragged you down with me, and now it's all gone to hell.' Paul bends closer to the bed and presses his lips against Jacob's hand. 'The thing is – I am absolutely certain that I would be dead by now if it hadn't been for you. My life would have never meant a thing, not to anyone.' A tear falls on Jacob's skin and Paul wipes it away. He moves his other hand up, clasping Jacob's palm in both of his own and whispers against it. 'Goddammit, Jacob, I love you. More than anything, more than my own life, and I still can't keep you safe. What am I supposed to do with that?'

'I could give you a few ideas,' Jacob replies from higher up the bed, his voice hoarse and raspy. 'I mean, you know, once I bust out of this joint.'

Paul glances up in shock, tears spilling down his face. Jacob reaches out to wipe them away and winces slightly at the movement. 'I don't need protecting,' he whispers. 'You didn't drag me into anything, Paul. I followed you, and when I made that decision, I knew it might mean to hell and back.'

Paul closes his eyes, rests his head against Jacob's arm where it lies across the bed. His mind tracked the words from Jacob's mouth, but steadfastly refuses to process them. It's too much, too many chinks in the armor, and he needs that shield intact for what he's about to do. They're silent for a moment, before Paul lifts his head, a fierce light in his eyes. 'All right. I'm not supposed to be here, you're supposed to be sleeping, and I've got some unfinished business to take care of.'

'Paul -' Jacob interjects, grasping Paul's left arm with his right. 'Don't. Just leave it, we can skip town as soon as I can travel, they'll never find us.'

'Yes they will,' Paul assures him. 'They followed us to that motel, probably told their buddies exactly where we were, and I had to use our new 'information' with the cops and the hospital. If you think I'm going to let those punks get away with what they did to you, then you don't know me very well at all.'

'I know you inside and out,' Jacob replies. 'I know exactly what you're going to do, and that's what scares me. They have to know you'll be coming for them.'

'Good,' Paul smiles, and Jacob glimpses the beast beneath. 'They should be quaking in their goddamn boots right about now. I'm about to show them just how much worse it can get.' Footsteps echo down the corridor, and Paul rises from the chair, kissing Jacob's hand in farewell. He pulls Jacob's burner cell from his pocket and leaves it by the table. 

'Call me if you need me, all right?' he says. 'Otherwise, I'll be back as soon as this is settled.'

'You call _me_ ,' Jacob insists. 'You better fucking let me know you're still alive out there.'

Paul watches him for a moment before leaning down and kissing his forehead. Jacob lifts his right hand to Paul's cheek and drags his lips down, kissing him hard on the mouth. 'You do what you have to do,' he whispers. 'Just come back to me when you're done.'

Paul nods, pressing his cheek against Jacob's before discreetly leaving the room, ducking around corners to avoid nurses and orderlies on his way down to the bottom floor. He can feel the blood rising to a boiling point in his veins as he exits through the revolving door, knows that the human mask has fallen away entirely by the time he reaches the car. He fires up the engine, reaching beneath the passenger seat for the locked case, and setting it on the upholstery beside him.

He's always enjoyed a good hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not where I meant to end Chapter 8, but it's been so long since I posted anything new to this series I decided to stop it here, for now. I'm still working on this story, I promise! Jacob and Paul's Excellent Adventure shall continue~


End file.
